


it seems to me i've loved him a hundred years

by herowndeliverance (atheilen)



Series: at the moment of awakening [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom Madison, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Voyeurism, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Relationship Negotiation, Virginity, assholes in love, purity culture, sub Jefferson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atheilen/pseuds/herowndeliverance
Summary: President Abigail Smith's probable second term gives Thomas Jefferson--submissive, statesman, and virgin--time to explore new horizons.As ever, James Madison has helpful suggestions about how he should spend that time.





	it seems to me i've loved him a hundred years

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is a bit different from my usual fare, so I feel I should explain. This piece is set in a BDSM AU, which means (mostly) everyone identifies as Dominant, submissive, or switch, and this has implications for social roles. If kink is not your cup of tea, please don't read this, although there's no actual sex or kink in this part beyond the undertones that would always be present in such a society.
> 
> Explanation of tags/warnings at the end.

“Be patient,” said Jemmy.

That was Jemmy’s favorite thing to say to him, of course, but Thomas found it especially galling just now, or maybe he was just getting tired of it. Easy enough for James Madison to tell Thomas Jefferson to be patient. James Madison could do anything, he could have…

Well. That was it, wasn’t it. He could _have._ He was a Dominant, having was what they did. He could have the country if he wanted, and none would gainsay him, for that was the proper order of things...Dominants took power, and submissives endured what they did with it. He could have Dolley Payne Todd and her adorable child, and likely would before the year was out. And he could have others, too; any sub or switch he pleased.

Thomas Jefferson could not _have._ He was only a submissive; he could only be had, and not even that if he wanted any other worldly power. He’d understood that bargain young, and had been willing to pay the price. He had been patient for decades, he had denied himself everything, and for what? So another sub could have the presidential chair, and pass it on to Thomas’s former friend? Chastity for power was only a good exchange if you got power at the end of it, and Thomas had been chaste for so very long, certain experiments in more permissive France notwithstanding.

“Don’t pout,” said Jemmy.

“I never pout,” said Thomas. “It is unbecoming to a submissive of my stature.”

Jemmy had the unmitigated fucking gall to snort. Because Thomas was, in fact, a gentleman blessed with grace and virtue unsurpassed in their United States, he elected to ignore this slight, in recognition of their many years of friendship. He thought this showed admirable restraint. Jemmy should certainly be appreciative.

“I would, of course, never presume to dictate your course of action,” Jemmy said. “I merely offer advice, in accordance with my understanding of the situation. Do with it as you please.”

Now it was Thomas’s turn to snort. “And according to your understanding of the situation, Abby won’t fuck up.”

“President Smith is a careful woman,” James said.

“She wants you to think she is,” said Thomas. He missed Abby, sometimes. He had for her the admiration one couldn’t help but have for any beautiful predator, transfixed by her fangs and claws even as he knew she could kill him with a single strike. There was sense in what James said--better to challenge a weaker opponent, one he was sure he could beat, rather than overplay his hand too soon and risk losing everything he had worked for.

“Often that is enough,” said James. “She’s not likely to...render herself obnoxious.”

“Not like John would, you mean.”

“It will never be John,” said Jemmy, sounding certain.

“Because he’s a sub?” asked Thomas, to be contrary.

“No, because he’s John Adams Smith,” said Jemmy. “Besides, she’ll never let him.”

“Wasn’t that their whole plan?” asked Thomas. “Eight years of Abigail and eight of John?”

“God forbid,” said James. “I think she would like to believe it’s her plan, but she won’t step aside for him. If she wanted to do that, he’d have gone first.”

Thomas wasn’t so sure. “Wouldn’t that be...I don’t know, unseemly?”

“Oh, no,” said James. “It’s the other way around. Any Domme who wished her beloved to rule would make damn sure he could, at the cost of her own advancement if necessary.”

Thomas laughed. “What, out of chivalry? You have strange ideas about your own kind sometimes, Madison.”

James blinked. “If you like. I would have said devotion.”

That was rich coming from James Madison, who had never been devoted to a sub in his life and never would. Perhaps one day Thomas would stop wishing it were otherwise. He knew himself well enough to know today was not that day, and tomorrow didn’t look good either.

“Devotion and self-sacrifice are our thing, Jemmy. You Doms are no good at it.”

Madison smiled, a close, thin-lipped sort of thing. “Evidently. Which is why I counsel you to be patient. At the end of eight years the people will have had enough of Federalist tyranny, whether the tyrant is Madam Smith or her devoted husband. And then you will be ready. Won’t you, Jefferson?”

Thomas swallowed. It wasn’t fair, the way James could make a rhetorical question into an order, or at least something that sounded like an order. Not that James had ever given him orders. Their relationship was one of equals, founded on mutual respect. Thomas wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Yes, James,” he said. With great effort, he managed not to bend his neck or lower his eyes. He didn’t even nod. He kept his eyes on James’s like he would with any equal. It took every bit of the restraint he had cultivated over decades.

“Good,” said James. Which was encouragement anyone would give his friend, and not praise from...well. It wasn’t praise at all, because Thomas was a statesman and had never needed that sort of thing. “All will be well, you’ll see. If you only let it unfold as I have predicted it will.”

Thomas allowed himself to smile. It was within the bounds of propriety to smile at a friend. No one could censure him for that. “As you’ve planned, you mean.” They were always honest with each other in a way they could be with no one else; with James Thomas admitted to wanting, and with Thomas James admitted to planning.

“If you like.”

“I do like,” said Thomas. And, because he couldn’t leave it alone, because he had to make what lay between them into a joke, so as not to admit to himself or James quite how much the words meant, he laughed. “You gonna give me the country, Jemmy?” he asked. “Lay it at my feet like a trophy or a bauble?”

James’s expression did not change. “Of course.”

All of a sudden the room felt very warm. “Y-you should be careful,” Thomas said. Stammered, really. Which was ridiculous, he didn’t stammer, he wasn’t-- “That’s not the kind of thing you should say to a sub.”

James frowned, wrinkling his nose in the way he did when he was genuinely confused about something. “I didn’t say it. You did.”

“I was kidding, James.” That was what they did...they played. Not in the way Doms and subs played together, for that was forbidden him, but as friends did. They teased and prickled and bargained with words because those were the only tools available to them. He had thought James understood that.

He expected James to make a joke of his own, something about how Thomas’s blushing virgin submissive act had grown old, rather like Thomas himself had. But he was silent. His eyes widened as though Thomas had said something cruel, something meant to hurt him.

“Oh,” said Madison. “I see.”

Thomas’s mouth went dry.

For a moment there was silence. Thomas’s breathing sounded impossibly loud to his own ears. Had he misstepped, somehow? He felt as though he had, but he was uncertain where, or what he must do to make amends.

Then Madison said, “We should get married. There will be time for it, now.”

Thomas’s heart stopped. His breath stopped. The entire world around him stopped. “Excuse me?”

This could not possibly be what it sounded like. It was entirely out of character for James, and Thomas knew James’s character. It could not be. It was not a proposal. Even if James felt that way for Thomas, which he never had, he would never make Thomas choose. So he wasn’t asking Thomas the question that would break his heart. He was too good a friend for that.

So what was it? James could be cruel, as a Dominant and as a man. He could mistake honesty for harshness, he could be careless with Thomas’s feelings without realizing it because he didn’t realize the depth of those feelings. _Come visit me at Monticello,_ Thomas would say, or _come live next to me so we can see each other all the time,_ or _for you, I would exchange collars--_ the white lace of his purity replaced by the symbol of Madison’s claim, Madison’s control. And Madison would laugh and demur, because Madison didn’t know he meant it. Couldn’t know he meant it. Because if James knew he meant it then their friendship became something tawdry, a submissive past his expiration date pining after the only Dom who had ever shown him kindness, instead of the alliance of equals it was.

He wanted many things from James Madison, most of which he would never have. He would never want James Madison’s pity.

But James wasn’t usually cruel to him. And he didn’t believe James pitied him. So Thomas must have misheard, he must be reading implications into Madison’s statement that weren’t there.

“Oh, Jemmy,” he said. “You know I can’t. I made a choice, and it’s too late. Besides, who would…” He was not going to finish that sentence. He was not. It was one thing to look pathetic in service of a higher goal. It was quite another to actually be that pathetic.

Madison’s lip curled slightly in the way it did when someone said something more than usually stupid and his famed control slipped. Thomas usually relished that look, but then, Madison did not usually direct it at him.

“Times are different now,” said Madison. “It’s not like it was. You could have...well, a partner, now, without censure. General Washington does. The First Submissive still has his law practice. Even Hamilton is, well, Hamilton.”

Thomas closed his eyes. “Don’t remind me.” James had taken enough advantage of Hamilton’s complete lack of chastity and restraint, as Thomas recalled. The man had no shame, no sense of what was right, he knew nothing of loyalty, and Thomas didn’t know why it had taken James so long to see that.

“I’m serious,” Madison said. “The world has changed. Is changing. Think about it.”

Jemmy was right. The world had changed. The world had changed and Thomas was still the same, still wearing child’s white around his throat, because he was the one who had paid the price for it. He’d refused Martha, years ago, the only refusal that ever broke his heart, because duty mattered more to him. She’d said he’d chosen power and she wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t entirely right. Virginia needed Thomas Jefferson of Monticello more than it would ever need a second Mr. Wayles. And their United States…

He couldn’t bear to think of what it would mean if he gave up a family for nothing. If the world had moved on without him and robbed Thomas of both duty and happiness, leaving him a pathetic relic of a bygone age. So he changed the subject. “Why are you lecturing me about getting married when you never deigned to submit to the yoke of matrimony yourself? Or are you toying with poor Mrs. Todd?” It wouldn’t be the first time. James had a cruel streak in him, and Thomas liked Dolley. She deserved better than to be strung along by James Madison, no matter what people said about switches not caring about that sort of thing.

Madison was silent for a moment, but Thomas refused to let the silence be filled. Madison wasn’t going to weasel out of this question--though he was astonishingly good at that under normal circumstances.

“No,” he said with finality. “I won’t marry Dolley, and I won’t toy with her. There is only one submissive who could ever make me a supplicant, and I will have him, or I will have no one.”

This was a disaster. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to Thomas Jefferson, for the truth, now that it was revealed, could not be denied. His stomach turned to knots, and he found it hard to force the words out. “Oh, Jem,” he said. “You’re in love, aren’t you. Poor man.”

Thomas had once thought he would like to make a lifetime’s study of the different expressions of James Madison’s face. The slight hardness in his eyes even when he was ill, the way he looked in quiet reflection, the true friendliness he had for his intimates. Each revealed so much, and each was a gift for Thomas, a rare volume of knowledge he had the privilege to access.

The soft and tremulous smile unfurling on Madison’s face now was like nothing he’d ever catalogued before, and Thomas was a jealous enough person that he could not find it in his heart to look upon it as a gift. “Yes,” he said with something like wonder. “Yes, I do believe I am.”

“Oh,” said Thomas. “This makes sense. You’re hectoring me to get married because you want to get married.”

“Exactly,” said Madison with a great deal more relief than Thomas thought strictly necessary. “I want to get married, and with President Smith likely to have a second term, there will be time. Time to...pursue new avenues. Explore new things. A...consolation, of sorts.”

“A consolation,” Thomas repeated. This was not for him to protest. If Madison was in love,then he should have the object of his affection, and Thomas would, as a friend, do everything to help. He thought that was very submissive of him, actually, and that he should get more credit for it. Wasn’t it the ultimate form of submission, to give one’s Dominant what he wanted with no regard at all for one’s own happiness or pleasure? Ergo, Thomas was automatically a better submissive than...whoever this was, and he hoped the gentleman in question knew that and hated it. “I don’t need such consolation myself, though you’re sweet to think of me. James, really, you don’t need to...worry. About me.”

“I’m not,” said James, in the extremely level-headed tone of voice he got when he was frustrated. “Just for curiosity’s sake, do you have any idea whatsoever with whom I am in love?”

“It’s not Hamilton, is it?” Because Thomas drew the line there. If he had a safeword, he’d use it...he was not going to help James win Alexander Hamilton. Monroe would be marginally more acceptable, but he didn’t think Elizabeth was the sort of woman who would let her husband switch.

“Good God, Jefferson.” Madison spluttered.

“Well, I had to ask,” said Thomas. “Now, is the gentleman aware of your intentions? You need to start there."

“Yes,” said Madison. “Clearly. That is the place to start.”

“Good. We’re on the same page. I’m going to help you court him since you’ll obviously be terrible at it.”

“I can court on my own,” said James, bristling like an offended cat. “Some would say I’m good at it.”

“Nah,” said Thomas. “What you’re good at is called _seduction,_ James, and that you do not know the difference means you need help. You’re good at making subs want you, but the marriage game is entirely different. You can’t just expect a sub to fall at your feet like they usually do. The stakes are too high for that, you’re asking for someone to put his entire life and fortune in your hands, not just to trust you for a scene.”

“I see, I...thank you, Thomas, for the advice.” Madison looked...shaken, almost. Pale and waxy. _Rattled._ But nothing was supposed to rattle Madison.

Thomas guessed being in love would do it. He wouldn’t know. “So you’ll let me help, yeah?”

“You know,” said James, “I will be asking for trust, too. With my entire life and fortune.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s hard for Doms too. Whatever.”

“Yes, Thomas,” said James. “I will let you help.”

*

Of all the ridiculous whims Thomas Jefferson had ever forced on James Madison, this letter-writing nonsense had to be near the top of the list. James had asked if he could, at last, come for an extended visit at Monticello alone, something he had always refused to do before because he disliked the necessity of a chaperone, which seemed ridiculous with a gentleman who was, before all else, his peer and friend. But Thomas had graciously assented, and neither of them mentioned a chaperone, so James came alone, his only companion the diamond ring hidden in his locked suitcase.

So James had assumed Thomas must have realized. He had to know the import of James asking for this, just as he had to know the risks to his own reputation. He must be ready to play the game, and like any uncertain submissive, was subjecting James to tests, to assess his worth as a suitor.

But if he knew, then he had a better poker face than James had ever realized, for he gave no sign. If anything, he was more reserved with James than he’d ever been, not even clapping him on the shoulder as friends did, or shaking hands in the manner of gentlemen. When he asked about James’s attempt at courting, it was without any coy smiles, any allusions to their long friendship. Even when James admitted the man whom he desired was virginal, and had had neither spouse nor Dominant before, Thomas had merely blinked, then sighed.

“Then you’re even more screwed, James,” Thomas had said. “He’ll be scared and won’t know what to do. You must be careful and not come on too strong...you can be a little overwhelming sometimes.”

He knew Thomas Jefferson well enough to know that he would never have admitted to fear on his own account, especially not fear of Madison himself. But that made James even more determined to follow Thomas’s lead, to be careful. So he did not blurt out, _it’s you, I love you,_ or any of the thousand other inane things that came to mind. Instead, he had asked Thomas how he would advise proceeding.

“Write a letter,” Thomas had said. “You’re better at writing than speech anyway.”

James had to admit that was true.

“And don’t tell him everything at once, for God’s sake,” Thomas had said. “Just...introduce him to the idea. Tell him a bit of what you can offer, what you want.”

So James had been banished to his best friend’s library, where he was stuck writing a love letter to his best friend, who was down the hall.

If only he had the slightest idea how to begin.

_Dear Sir_

No. That would not do at all. This was not business correspondence and although James fancied himself an enlightened man, there was something in him that rankled at addressing a submissive he was courting in such a way. _He_ should be Sir. Thomas was...something else.

_Dear Thomas_

That was presumptuous. Thomas had said he must not assume anything, and their previous conversation had made it clear that James could take nothing for granted. Familiarity that might have been granted him in other spheres had no place here.

_Jefferson_

Even worse. He crumpled up yet another piece of paper.

James Madison was a Dominant to his bones. It was the first thing he had ever known about himself, when the rest of the world had seen only his frailty, his weakness. But he was a gentleman too, and a politician, and a human being whom few people had bothered to take the trouble to understand, and all those things meant he would sooner scratch out his own eyes than address Thomas Jefferson as _boy._ It was degrading where he wished to exalt. Thomas might mock him as a neophyte who didn’t know how to woo, but he did know how to love. He was supposed to humble himself, not seek to do that to his beloved. To Jefferson.

He sighed. Took out another sheet of paper.

_Dear Friend_

~~_I sincerely hope you know of my unalterable attachment to you_ ~~ But that was the problem. Thomas clearly did not. Thomas did not, and thought of James as nothing but a seducer, someone who would use submissives for his own purposes and then discard them. And the worst thing was, he wasn’t wrong. He’d thought he was giving Thomas what he wanted and needed, respecting his choice of political power over love. But he had been dishonest about his heart and his desires, and so Thomas hadn’t known he had any choice at all.

 ~~_Forgive me_ ~~ Succinct, but hardly sufficient.

 _~~I did not mean to toy with you~~ _ But was that true? He’d enjoyed the games he’d played with Thomas over the years, in which Thomas would watch, while James did to another sub the things he would like to do to Thomas. He enjoyed bending Thomas to his will with a glance or a whisper. He’d just thought they were playing together.

 _You have spoken to me before about what you see as a war between your head and your heart, and I must admit that I have never understood. Perhaps it is not a thing we Dominants can know, not being so strictly bound to duty as you submissives are. But as ever, I_ ~~_beg_ ~~ _ask your indulgence and patience, for until now I have not shared with you my views on the subject. Permit me to do so now._

_I do not think there need be any conflict here. On the contrary, dear friend, I believe that it is only when head and heart are in agreement that a gentleman or lady may act in accordance with what is right. By this I do not mean to give free rein to sentiment or to the passions, but only to say that when the heart finds its true object, the head cannot help but follow its dictates, for both rational principles and virtues must be upheld._

_So it is with me. You and others may ask, what advantage do I seek from loving him? Every advantage, and none. What end am I attempting to reach by loving him? None whatsoever. Rather say that it was this end that guided all other designs, though I did poorly at showing it._

_What do I want from him?_

_I have thought about this long and hard. Please believe me when I say: everything you want, and nothing you do not. I understand this may be difficult to accept: you know what kind of Dominant I have been. You know I have heretofore obtained my pleasure in testing limits and seeing how far they might be stretched. But with you, I wish to do nothing that may cause distaste or discomfort. I would not play games of punishment or pain with you, unless you wanted them, and even then I would be clear that it was only a game. I would not rob you of your dignity or your freedom._

_I want your hand, dear friend, your hand and every other part of you. But I do not wish to claim them by force, for I know I do not have the right. Let me then place myself entirely in your hands, disabusing myself of the arrogant presumption that made me speak to you as though you were at my disposal. If in your judgment this venture may not be undertaken without endangering the more important considerations of duty and honor, I will give way to you. With my heart fully under the sway of so noble an object, it would be impossible to do other than obey._

_I ask only that whatever your decision, you continue to offer me your friendship, and that you remain confident in the attachment and esteem of your affectionate and humble servant_

_James Madison, Jr._

That would do for a rough draft. It was nowhere near adequate...he had not articulated his own faults to the degree Thomas would expect, nor had he made the depth of his feelings clear. The entire argument needed to be clarified and strengthened, there could be no weak contentions here, no flaws in logic.

 _Argument,_ he scoffed. _Madison, listen to yourself. This is not a political essay._

But wasn’t it, in a way? Wasn’t it the most important alliance of his life? He groaned, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. This was all too much.

The door banged open and Thomas bounced into the room. “All right,” he said with exaggerated verve, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

James clutched the sheet to his chest. “I’m nowhere near done.”

“Let’s see what you’ve done so far, then. Give it, Jemmy, seriously.”

Which was how James Madison ended up being chased through Monticello’s library by a demented Jefferson. Jefferson won, whether because he was more determined or because Madison wanted to be caught, he would never know. In any case, Jefferson wrested the paper from him, and Madison gave in and sat down, breathless with the weight of what he had done.

It seemed to take Jefferson decades to read the letter, and with each passing moment Madison’s anxiety increased. One of the things he loved most about Thomas was the way he was always moving, all quicksilver speed in both body and mind. He had always wondered what stillness would look like on him.

The stillness that settled on him now had nothing of the peace and rest James had imagined. Rather, he seemed to freeze and flatten, his face losing its perpetual amination, his arms hanging stiff at his sides, his spine straightening into a rod.

He had seen Jefferson put out. He had seen Jefferson annoyed. He had seen Jefferson in theatrical fits of rage. He had never seen Jefferson so coldly furious.

 _You should memorize that,_ a distant part of Madison’s brain told him. _So you can recognize it later._

If there was a later.

He thought perhaps he should say something, try to salvage what he could from this. “Thomas, I’m sorry--”

“ _Silence._ ” There was a particular trick subs seemed to be able to do with their voices where the room’s temperature dropped by twenty degrees when they were angry. General Washington had been the most adept at it Madison had seen, followed closely by Hamilton. Neither of them had a patch on Thomas Jefferson. “You have said quite enough.”

He didn’t dare breathe.

“So what I just read, if I am not mistaken,” began Thomas, drawing out each syllable as if to prolong James’s agony, “claims that you love me, and you know I’ve loved you for God knows how long, and that you let me watch your scenes for years while pretending you were doing me a favor and easing the burden of chastity imposed upon me. As a friend. Which is what you have claimed to be to me, remember that?”

“Thomas…”

“And now you have the gall to beg for my forgiveness? To say you never meant to toy with me, while you’ve been pretending to court some virgin boy? Jesus, James, I thought I was going to have to suffer through the humiliation of watching you marry one of our friends’ kids.”

Inwardly, Madison cursed his predilection to strike through text with a single line, so the words underneath remained legible. “No, God, Thomas, I would never…”

“How is this not punishment, Madison? If this is your idea of gentleness, I would hate to see what you consider cruel. I don’t know what I did to deserve that from you.”

Thomas had seen Madison’s cruelty dozens of times, and reveled in it. Madison was not going to point that out, now or ever. “You don’t. You didn’t. I’m sorry. I thought I had given you...all you wanted, all that you would take from me. I thought you knew I love you.”

“How could I know, when you’ve never said? I should hate you, I should think you’ve ruined me, maybe you have, I don’t know.”

“I’m saying it now. God, I love you, I love you…”

“Get out,” said Thomas. His voice shook. “Not out entirely. But...you have your own room in this house. Keep to it. Please.”

Madison bowed his head, and went.

*

The worst part about the chastity was, he’d never really cared about it. He didn’t believe in a God who worked His will in the world, and if he did, he certainly didn’t believe that Deity gave a rat’s ass where, when, and with whom a submissive had sex. But Virginia cared about it, and Thomas cared about Virginia. If he wanted to keep the use of his mind, if he wanted to own Monticello in his own right, to practice law, to be a statesman, this was the price demanded of him. And so he had paid it, and counted the cost small.

Then the world had changed. _Thomas_ had changed it. He’d written in the Declaration, _we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and women are created equal,_ and had made no reference to orientation. As much as he hated the man, Hamilton had changed things for subs too. So had Washington, and John Adams Smith, and Angelica Schuyler Church, and all the others, all the brilliant submissives who had done most of the work of revolution. All of them, no matter their other differences, had been united in that object, and they had attained it, though there was still work to do,

Most of them were married. Why should Thomas not be?

His anger at James was still present, his anger at himself even more so. He should feel violated, betrayed, duped. But he had given Madison a room of his own in this house. He kept asking Madison if he could watch. He had taught himself to take pain, and always imagined it coming at Madison’s hand. If there was duplicity in their arrangements, it had been mutual.

But whether he could forgive James was not the question. He knew he already had.

Nor was the question whether he could keep his political career. It might be difficult, considering he had made so much of the costume of his virginity, but between him and Jemmy they could manage. It was permissible for one respectable Virginia gentleman to marry another.

_The question is: can I love him without pretense? Is there a place for us in this world we have made?_

He got up. Knocked on Madison’s door. And though he didn’t care about the chastity, not really, there was still a transgressive thrill that coursed through him at the thought of entering the bedroom of a gentleman. A _Dominant_ gentleman.

He found he liked the feeling.

“Leave the tray outside,” Madison called.

“Jem, it’s me, open up.” In his mind, he heard his mother: _a submissive should not make demands, only respectful requests._ And yeah, fuck that.

Madison opened the door. His eyes were red and swollen, the way they got when he was sick. Or when he was crying. It didn’t really matter which, either way Thomas had to put an end to it quickly. He had waited long enough.

“So there’s one thing I still don’t get,” he said. “You found out I didn’t know you...cared for me.”

“I’m in love with you,” James corrected, and Thomas nodded, conceding the point.

“So why not just tell me? Why jump straight to proposing? That was meant to be a proposal, right?”

“I had planned to propose,” James said. “Just...not for a long time. When...when you were done your second term.”

Oh.

Oh, that was...that was unfair, that was...possibly the most romantic thing Thomas had ever heard, actually, how dare he?

“I thought I would run after you, and then, on the night I won, ask if you would condescend to stay in the president’s house awhile longer. We will have moved the capital by then, so…” He smiled shyly. “I’m sure I would have come up with a better speech in the intervening years.”

“Really. You don’t need to. That’s your best material, Jesus, why didn’t you lead with that? But fuck it, we’re not waiting, I’m not having some bullshit, decade-long quasi-betrothal, we’ll do it next spring and the world can choke on it if they want. But I want you to propose properly, with the ring and everything, which I assume you’ll have to go buy.”

So of course James pulled it from his jacket pocket. In retrospect, Thomas had been foolish not to assume he would have planned for this.

“I won’t make you kneel,” Thomas started to say, for he had made James grovel enough, but James went to his knees anyway, and so there was nothing Thomas could do but join him there, for he had had enough of games.

“Please,” said James, and in the same breath Thomas said, “Yes, my love, yes.”

They could work out the details later.

**Author's Note:**

> Implied/Referenced Voyeurism: Jefferson used to watch Madison have scenes, but did not take part in them himself. Jefferson and Madison both got off on his presence there.
> 
> Implied/Referenced Dub-con: this is a little trickier, but I decided to tag it because Madison was never honest about his motives for inviting Jefferson to watch. Thus, Jefferson was not able to give or withhold true consent. The ramifications of this will be dealt with in future installments.


End file.
